


The GalaxyTree

by Scappodaqui



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Action/Adventure, Andalite bros, Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Drama, Elfangor is a good bro, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, POV Gafinilan, Prequel, Romance, Tailfight Club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui
Summary: Set pre-series, the warriors of the GalaxyTree travel to the Ssstram planet to counter the Yeerk invasion.Featuring: those wacky Skrit-Na, an amateur tail-fighting league (the first rule of tailfight club isyou don't tell Captain Nerefir about tailfight club), illicit gambling, and interstellar war.Incomplete, abandoned; apologies. I've left this fandom.





	1. Chapter 1

<... fourteen to one odds, at least. Elfangor? Have you seen him fight?> Pareon stabbed excitedly at the air with his own tail.

<It’s pointless, Elfangor never takes part in recreational tail fighting, he only does it for training.> Satril scuffed one hoof in the grass in dismissal.

<Yes, but he loves the sim room> Pareon insisted. <If I bet him my hours in there-- >

<He’s a Prince, he can use the sim room whenever he wants.>

<Hey, Mertil! Get over here. We’re placing bets.>

The reason for the greater than usual restlessness was our long journey. We had been in normal space for far too long, alternating with brief trips through Z-Space; the Ssstram planet is not conveniently located. We fighter pilots tend to need constant stimulation. 

Thus, the GalaxyTree’s nascent recreational tail-fighting league. 

I had been idly drilling side-strikes with Mertil, but at Pareon’s call I blocked his final blow and wheeled away. Mertil made a gesture of nonchalance with his stalk eyes and shoulders. I knew he was somewhat bored with tail-fighting me, since we anticipate most of each other’s blows. I myself do not care much for wagers, but Mertil has pride to uphold: he’s the current champion of the league.

Captain Nerefir does not know of this. Or if he does, he looks the other way with at least two of his eyes. Besides, it keeps us sharp. I would take part more often myself, but my style of fighting does not work well against other Andalites. Because I am large and strong, I wield my tail blade with greater power and less precision than most. I am deadly in combat against slower enemies, like Hork-Bajir, but against other Andalites my lesser agility is a handicap. If I were allowed to use killing force, assuredly I would win. As I cannot, I tend to remain on the sidelines. Mertil can have this. And driftball. And… 

… in truth, Mertil prefers to win at everything he can. 

There is one thing I do better than anyone on the ship, and I had a feeling Pareon would mention it soon.

<... offer some of Gafinilan’s  _ illsipar _ , on the other hand, and he just might put a hoof in.>

<Even old Elfangor’s got to appreciate a good bulb.>

They believe that just because I am Mertil’s mate I will give him whatever he wants. Even my good  _ illsipar _ for a bet.

They are right.

<Fine,> I grumbled, <But I will only wager it on Mertil.>

< _ Obviously _ ,> Satril scoffed.

<Good thing someone is,> Pareon said. <My wager is on Elfangor.>

< _ If  _ we can get him to fight,> Mertil interjected mildly. <After all, he has so many more important things to do.>

Satril burst out laughing. None of us had anything important to do at the moment. We were stuck in transit, far from any planet.

Or so we thought at the time.

We had to go back to innocent grazing and drills when the Captain came in for his feeding, flanked by Prince Elfangor and the T.O. Elfangor can be a bit standoffish and even awkward, prone to making odd gestures with his arms. Some of us think it has to do with his time spent  among aliens, but no one really knows. Anyway, I understand if he prefers to be alone; some of us enjoy solitude. I hoped Pareon would not torment him too much. The young pilot is new to the fleet and thinks of himself as one who might follow in Elfangor’s hoofprints. Seriously. He’d eat the same grass if it meant he could be the next Elfangor. It’s bad enough that Mertil tells me all the time how lucky we are to have such a good Prince. 

Not that Elfangor isn’t impressive. He’s large for an Andalite, though not as large as I am; he’s a good pilot and obviously a very good tail-fighter. As far as I know, he doesn’t go around quoting famous poetry to anyone, which is a mark in his favor. He’s also kind to lower-ranked pilots and even the two  _ arisths _ who run around annoying everyone. I guess that’s his choice as a Prince--he wants to be the modern kind of leader, respected more than feared. I’ve also heard he has a younger brother and wants to set a precedent for allowing  _ arisths  _ combat experience. Whatever his reasons, personally, I couldn’t do it.  _ Arisths  _ get my fur up. The two we have on board are always selfishly trampling the best grass. Rather than eating in a neat and considerate manner, they leave things a mess. It annoys me in particular because one of my shipboard duties involves managing the plant life in the Dome. I felt my tail rise in anger as I saw the youngsters approaching--probably to ogle the high-ranking Andalites who’d come to graze. 

<You used to do the same,> Mertil told me at this point, arching one stalk eye my way from where he stood near Pareon. 

<Yes, I was an idiot  _ aristh _ too,> I grumbled, trotting toward the youngsters as they pretended to sidle casually toward the running stream, really just looking for an excuse to get closer to the Prince. <Someone should’ve put a little more tail into us at that age, for that matter.>

Mertil laughed and I knew he was thinking of the time that, assigned to our first combat mission as  _ arisths _ , I managed to convince the captain temporarily that I was his new T.O. You see, I looked very mature for my age, and… it seemed a good idea at the time. Less so when I was given the duty of sanitation for the ship’s entire voyage.

In any case, I took it upon myself to chastise the youths who were even now disrupting the careful seeding I had done around the verge of the water.

< _ Aristh _ Ajash!  _ Aristh _ Carradin!>

<Ajaht, actually,> the first youth said, looking at me insolently with his main eyes.

His companion wilted and stuttered in weak, almost inaudible thoughtspeak. I ignored him. Many have this reaction to me when I am angry.

<I do not care,> I informed them. <You are now in charge of seeding the river bank. See how you like it when others disrupt your work.>

I wheeled and galloped away before they could complain. It’s true that we usually allow the automated system to take care of those tasks, but it would be good for them to learn how to plant. Honestly, it’s a skill every Andalite should acquire.

Mertil was involved in an intense discussion with his friends, so I decided that I would go and run some simulations to prepare for our engagement on the Ssstram planet. Unfortunately, before I could get there, I ran into another of my least favorite people: Aloth-Attamil-Gahar. He fell in step beside me as I passed by a stand of  _ derrishoul _ trees I had pruned myself.

<You really came down hard on those  _ arisths _ , Gafinilan,> he told me, the lids of his main eyes drooping in the affectedly disinterested manner he liked to adopt. Aloth likes to pretend he has not a care in the world. Despite his nonchalance and almost slovenly, slouching appearance, he is one of the best snipers ever to come out of the Academy. I don’t like those who pretend that difficult tasks are effortless. It’s dishonest.

<They need to learn discipline,> I said, moving my tail restlessly in a way that was calculated to make Aloth feel a bit of discomfort.

If he did, he didn’t show it. <So old-fashioned,> he scoffed. Then, the real reason he had approached me. <I hear Mertil is going to try crossing tails with Prince Elfangor.>

I closed my stalk eyes in impatience. <Perhaps,> I said noncommittally. 

<Well, you’ll be betting on Mertil, so I thought I’d throw my lot in with Elfangor.>

This surprised me, because Aloth doesn’t like to bet. Everyone knows his family is very low-status; he doesn’t have much to offer in trade. He grew up in the fourteenth district, which I think explains a lot. He must have been really confident to try to put something down for this match. I found myself growing offended. Yes, Elfangor is a great hero, but Mertil is very skilled too.

<Fine,> I said, slashing my tail back and forth. <What do you have to offer?>

<Awfully confident, aren’t you?>

<Don’t waste my time,> I warned.

<My, my,> Aloth said, dancing out of the way of my tail. <Someone rushed their ritual this morning. What’s the matter, getting anxious about the battle? I’ve heard the Yeerks already have two Pool Ships in orbit.>

<I’m not worried.>

<That’s true, you probably haven’t thought enough about it,> he mused. 

<Some of us fight tail-to-tail, rather than from a distance. Try it and then see how nervous you are.>

<No, I’ll leave the tail-fighting to you and the rest of the recreational league,> Aloth said.

<You wanted to place a bet?> I made a show of impatience. <Better try the others, I guess I’m not interested.>

<Oh,> Aloth said, <You will be.>

I tried to press him but he wouldn’t say anything more.

A strange day. First Mertil and everyone else gets it into their heads that they’ll win the Prince over to our tail-fighting league, and then Aloth seems to believe he has access to something I will wish greatly to obtain. Or maybe he was just playing games. Some people are like that.

This is why I prefer plants.


	2. Chapter Two

I headed to the simulation room. It’s a new addition to most Dome ships, designed to help us prepare for the terrain on alien planets. Mertil knows more about how this stuff works than I do--I like to stick with the natural world--and he says the programming is very cutting-edge. It certainly produces realistic and immersive scenarios. I saw that the room was unoccupied and entered my code. The door opened to let me in.

At first the simulation room was a blank white like Z-space, but as soon as I told the computers what I wanted, the white walls were replaced with startlingly real three-dimensional depictions of the planet we would be approaching soon. The Ssstram planet is primarily tropical swamp, and the first thing I noticed in the sim was the steamy warmth of the air and the smell of rotting things, rich and dark. Smell, sound, and even touch sprang vividly to life. I found my hooves sunk in a pool of stagnant water buzzing with insect and amphibian life. Melting heat flattened my fur to my body. I recognized two species of small animals and five species of plants, three of them poisonous to Andalites. In the distance I could see a Ssstram, flying low above the surface of the tepid marshy water.

Ssstram are interesting creatures. They are sentient and about half the size of an adult Andalite. They have two pairs of membranous featherless wings. The hinder pair attaches to their strong back legs so that when they enter the water, the membrane doubles as a fin. They do not spend much time in the water but have excellent diving abilities, as fish are their primary source of food. They have long, sinuous necks and heads that end in mouths, like many creatures, with sharp teeth and very long tongues. Their three eyes--two in front and one on the back of the head--are covered with a retractable membrane as well, allowing them to see in both water and air. They have two frontal claws for grasping prey set in the middle of their chests. A versatile body. I could see how a creature that maneuvered well in both water and air could be of use to the Yeerks.

The Ssstram are not very advanced. They have a primitive culture that centers around the large nests they keep full of their offspring, which mature in small, leathery eggs and emerge still quite dependent upon the parents. They raise them together and engage in cluster-mating, so that each group of offspring may have up to ten parents. I suppose this has proven necessary because of high levels of predation on the planet in the past.

The Ssstram communicate in a low, hissing vocalized language--in case you couldn’t guess from the name of their race. I know we don’t have much recorded of their language, but it was enough for my translator chip to pick up some of the speech between the Ssstram I saw in the sky and another one that joined it shortly thereafter. They were talking about their hunt and plans for a nesting ceremony for one of their offspring. Not so much unlike Andalites, I guess, just thousands of years more primitive.

The way the Yeerks have infiltrated the Ssstram is, from reports, dishearteningly clever. They invade the nests and take the young ones first, then transfer to the parents. Once one parent is taken it is a simple to spread to the rest.

Our hope in combatting this is to raise awareness of the Yeerk presence there. Once the Ssstram know of the invasion they can fight back. It is always difficult, however, to get an indigenous population to fight against members of what appear to be their own race. Prince Elfangor says he wants us to use a new approach. He thinks we should concentrate on combatting the Yeerk forces aerially before we even approach the planet’s surface. If we can disable the Pool Ships and their on-board Kandrona, we may be able to avoid killing innocent Ssstram. As a fighter pilot I am all for this plan. But still, I wanted to familiarize myself with the terrain we might be facing, so I waded forward through the muck of the planet the simulation room had created for me. I got myself used to the surroundings: the slightly lesser gravitational pull, the annoyance of insects. I calculated that Shredder fire could be dangerous in this atmosphere due to blowback and made a note to test it out if we truly wound up on the planet’s surface.

Then I have to admit I grew a little bit distracted examining the native foliage. Some of the aquatic plants fascinated me. I wished it were not merely a simulation so that I could take cuttings back to my quarters, though Mertil always complains that I should just put them in the Dome like a sensible Andalite and not crowd our already-cramped room with growth lights and soil pots. So, maybe it was better that I could not. I already have four pots of tea plants and three of _illsipar_.

I came out of the simulation room blinking and dazed by the experience, but oddly refreshed. It is pleasant to escape the cramped quarters of the ship even in an unreal way. I know many feel similarly, which is why I was not too surprised to see another Andalite standing outside of the simulation room when I exited.

<Prince Elfangor,> I said, and bowed my head and stalk eyes to him in greeting.

<Warrior Gafinilan,> he said, looking at me in an awkwardly steady way with his main eyes. I’m not sure if he does this to everyone, but it’s disconcerting.

<The room is yours,> I said. <I apologize for taking so long. I merely wished to acquaint myself with the Ssstram planet.>

<Gafinilan…>

I stopped and turned toward him, startled. I do not believe the Prince had ever addressed me so familiarly. There was something emotional in his voice. I felt a wave of dread. Was it Mertil? Had something happened to Mertil, some accident or--

<Yes?>

Elfangor came to stand beside me. I noticed this meant that he had to look up to make eye contact with his main eyes, an oddly undignified position for a Prince. <I received a communication from the homeworld. It concerns your mother.>

<My mother?> I paused. I had not spoken to my mother in… several seasons. She was always closer with my sister, and then after my father died, I suppose I--I just did not--she seemed to carry a burden of guilt that felt palpable when I was near her. I feared she would treat me differently, or… in truth I feared I would be angry with her, for what I do not know. Perhaps, because I knew she blamed herself, I thought that I would follow suit--even if it was unearned. Even-- <What has happened?>

<Perhaps you should accompany me to my quarters,> Elfangor suggested gently.

I knew then that it was very bad. Without thinking, I stumbled sideways. For a moment I felt a spike of panic--were the effects of _Soola_ ’s disease hitting me so early?--but then recognized it as simply the bodily weakness brought on by intense emotion. I realized I had closed my main eyes. When I opened them again, I was surprised to see Elfangor’s on level with mine. I had slumped sideways, against one of the featureless white walls of the ship’s corridor. My front leg had slipped. I scrambled quickly to all four hooves, fending off the tail he extended to help balance me as I stood.

<She is dead,> I said flatly.

<Yes. Um…> At any other time, I would have been amused. _See, Mertil? The great Prince Elfangor says “um”!_

At this, I felt the distant reach of Mertil’s mind toward mine. I quickly brushed him away. At this moment I could not bear another presence in my thoughts. I could hardly bear to think them myself.

<Are… is there a message, or…>

<I believe your sister wishes you to make contact with her. You may do so in your quarters if you prefer.>

I didn’t know what to say or do. My mind was racing, cartwheeling. I felt numb and confused and then very hot all over, then cold, and hot again in alternation, like when I had _yamphut_ as a child. I wished suddenly that I could run and run and run, run a long way until the unnatural bursting feeling in my chest might be matched with the heat of exertion. I wished for my mother to nestle me against the softness of her flank and surround me with the warm curve of her tail. I wished this in a deep and very pure way, the way an Andalite dying of thirst might wish for water.

I could not think. I could not speak. I could not breathe.  

I found I had wrapped my own tail around my body so tightly it caused me pain.

Then Mertil was there. I do not know how he had fended off my mental attempt to distance myself, but I suppose our bond is too strong--he had to have felt some of what I was feeling. He was there faster than I would have thought possible, though perhaps more time passed than I was aware of in my confusion and grief. He put his hands on my back and flanks and then moved to stroke my arms. I glanced in shock at Prince Elfangor, aware of the complete unseemliness of the display. I was surprised at what I saw: the Prince looked at us not with the embarrassment of an Andalite faced with excessive public affection, but with an expression that appeared almost wistful. Longing. Then he turned both his stalk eyes and his main eyes carefully away.

Somehow Mertil got us to our quarters. I did not extend the proper farewell to Prince Elfangor, but I assume he understood. I have no memory of navigating the Dome Ship’s corridors. When we arrived at our room I felt a surge of relief. Though it was cramped and close, I felt safe here, with my plants and with Mertil. The door shut behind us and I let myself sink down to my knees, my whole body shaking with spasms of grief. Which upset me more, because then I thought of my father, and how he had experienced muscular contractions of this type when the illness set in. And then I felt a horrible sickness in my hearts at the thought of my own future, and beyond that a deep loathing at my selfishness in thinking of that at a time like this.

Mertil remained with me through my shaking, on his knees beside me with his arms round the base of my torso. He stroked me many times with his hands. He did not try to hold me still or stop me. Finally I began to still on my own, only small tremors passing through my body like the aftershocks of a tectonic plate collision.

At last, calmed by the catharsis of my physical outburst, I could speak.

<I do not wish to call my sister,> I said weakly.

Mertil gave a small smile. He knows that my sister and I do not get along; he also knew, in this moment, that I worried I would not be able to speak to her in the manner in which I ought to. I was concerned I would make her own grief worse. <The Prince said that she requested you make contact?>

<Of course she’d say that. She’d have to say that…>

Mertil remained silent.

Finally I spoke. <I have feared this for years,> I admitted to him. <Ever since my father’s death, she has been… and I chose to leave. To flee. And then when my sister left her too, of course she-->

<Gafinilan, you cannot blame yourself. You cannot. I know what you believe. But in that case it would have been her choice.>

I looked at Mertil in a sudden moment of wild desperation. <Mertil--my _shorm_ \--Mertil, please.> I twined our tails together as Andalites do only with their mates or lovers; when interwoven this way, the tail is useless as a weapon.

<Yes. My love. What do you need?>

<Please promise me you will not do as my mother has done. Please. When I die-- >

<Gafinilan-- >

<Please.>

He remained silent. My hearts faltered. Then he said, <It may be you will not die.>

<We are far from a cure for _Soola_ ’s.>

<I just…> He fell silent. <All right. All right, Gafinilan, I promise you. All right.>

I relaxed somewhat.

Mertil said, <Now call your sister.>

I let out a pained, petulant laugh. <Fine. But you must remain with me. My sister likes you.>

<Really? I thought she hated me.>

<No. You can tell she likes you because she will occasionally make eye contact with one of her stalk eyes, instead of ignoring you entirely.>

<Ah. An important distinction.>

I should clarify that my sister is a respected particle physicist. But with me, she still behaves like an angry adolescent. She has known Mertil since she was born, and so treats him with similar casual immaturity.

<I do not wish to speak to her,> I confided in Mertil, <because it will make this all real.>

<I know,> he said, squeezing my tail with the strong length of his own.

At last, reluctantly, I pulled free from him. We slowly got to our feet and I approached the console that would allow me to communicate with the homeworld.

* * *

 I reached out to the homeworld on our small computer, half-hoping that Arrila would not be available. But she was. Her face on the holo screen looked both familiar and strange. I kept seeing how much she resembled our mother: the same shape to her face and tilt to her eyes and the same shade of lavender in her fur. Bodily, she is more like me and my father--large and sturdy with a tail-blade that could rival an Andalite male’s. She is not particularly interested in using it, though. Like I’ve said, Arrila and I have basically nothing in common. She’s almost openly anti-military. She enjoys the company of others and spends most of her time with a large group of friends, which I hear is the new trend among young Andalite females. She even enjoys helping them with their young ones, perhaps because she can’t have offspring herself; although females are immune, she does carry the gene for _Soola_ ’s. She likes physics and poetry and cloud art and all the cutting-edge stuff I guess I’m too old-fashioned to understand. She thinks she’s smarter than I am, which is so annoying I don’t even want to consider whether or not it’s true.

At the moment, however, I was more than willing to set aside our lifelong differences.

<Greetings,> she said formally. The only sign of her agitation was the rapid blinking of her stalk eyes.

<Greetings,> I said back. We each bowed our heads in shared grief. This was the easy part: we went through the ritual that the children of a deceased person must perform, celebrating the return of our mother’s body to the planet and so on and so forth. We had gotten up to the part about carrying on her memories when I realized I’d have to ask if my mother had left a _hirac delest_.

Viewing my father’s was very hard. It had hurt to watch him, the way his once-strong body was reduced to tremors, and still he spent the first part of the _hirac deles_ _t_ apologizing to me. It made me feel awful. I viewed it only once and never again.

Once we had finished the ritual Mertil greeted her as well, and she gave him a faint smile. They started to talk about the latest poetry they had been reading. I mostly stopped paying attention until the topic came back to our mother’s death ceremony, which I would have to view remotely the next day.

Arrila and I skirted the subject of the _hirac delest_ for some time. I gathered she had viewed it. She confirmed what I had suspected: my mother had taken her own life. <It was so stupid!> Arrila burst out, talking not about my mother’s decision but her own behavior. <I should have known when she helped me move into my scoop. Her behavior was strange. She gave me many of her belongings.>

I looked at Mertil. I looked back at my sister. <You should not blame yourself,> I said, echoing what Mertil had earlier told me. <I mean, I left the planet.>

<That was the right choice,> she argued. <You know your very presence made Mother think of him. And…> She fell silent and then waved away whatever she’d been going to say next with a twitch of her stalk eyes.

<Are you all right, Arrila?>

<Of course not. But I have my work and my friends and my scoop, though I’m sure you’d disapprove of how I’m keeping it.>

<I’m sure.>

<And you have Mertil, so I know you’re fine.>

Mertil bobbed his stalk eyes in assent.

<I don’t know when this mission will be complete,> I told Arrila honestly. <I will return to the homeworld as soon as they will grant me leave, but will you perform the dismantling of Mother’s scoop? I’m sorry to ask…>

<Of course,> she said. <It’s no trouble.>

<And…> I hesitated. <The _hirac delest_? >

<No,> she said, quick as a tail-strike.

<I am her son, I have a right to see it.>

She closed her main eyes in an attempt to escape the intensity of my stare. <Look, Gafinilan, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. It was… disturbing. I mean… she spoke more to me, anyway.>

I swiveled one stalk eye toward Mertil. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was any more than I did. I focused back on Arrila. I thought about how she would be the one to have to see all of our mother’s old friends, all of our relatives. Be the one to ritually dispose of all of her remaining belongings and return her scoop to the soil. I sighed. <All right, Arrila.>

Her relaxation was visible. <Well. I have many preparations to begin…>

<I understand.>

<Fly well out there.>

<Uh, do good physics.>

She actually laughed, though in a  brief and bitter way. Still, it felt good to hear.

<Farewell, sister.>

<Farewell, brother.>


	3. Chapter Three

I was able to sleep most of that night. When I woke up with nightmares, Mertil made me some of my preferred tea and we dipped our hooves into it until we fell back asleep. By the next morning I felt much better. After viewing my mother’s funereal proceedings remotely, I decided not to stay in my quarters moping--I mean, really, what would be the point? Besides, I did not want to be too much of a burden for Mertil. I could tell he was disturbed and needed reassurance, too. He had known my mother almost as well as he knew his own. Maybe better, because we tended to spend more time at my scoop as children. My mother always grew the best grass. Anyway, though Mertil remained pensive and I remained melancholy, my natural Andalite optimism soon asserted itself. After all… we were about to go to war. For a fighter pilot, that’s exciting. It’s also a reminder that I might not even die from my illness. I might die nobly in battle. 

When we went out to the Dome to graze the next day I was careful to accept all of the ritual condolences extended to me in a matter-of-fact way. I like rituals. They make things so simple. So, we were soon able to move on. Prince Elfangor came up to me to apologize for how he had broken the news, which was a little disconcerting, but we went through the condolence ritual and I think all was well.

Mertil was standing near us and he also extended greetings to the Prince. It was strange. If I hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have thought him agitated at all--his manner with superiors is just as smooth as his manner with our fellow pilots. But being me, I could tell there was something like vexation boiling under his calm surface. 

<So, Prince Elfangor,> Mertil said casually, as the Prince was about to move off to graze alone as he usually does. Mertil gets away with talking to authority like this somehow, maybe because of his natural relaxed charm. Whatever it is, I don’t have any myself. <I have heard you might be interested in settling a bit of a bet among your pilots.>

<Oh?> Elfangor looked curiously between us. I tried not to appear too embarrassed by Mertil’s forwardness. In truth I was somewhat amused. I guessed Mertil was doing this to help shift the attention from the uncomfortable topic of my mother’s death; I appreciated it.

<We all need a bit of diversion at the moment, and I want to make sure to keep my tail-strike sharp,> Mertil said, again with a tone like we were discussing the quality of the grass. But I could see his eyes looked oddly bright. <What do you say you and I meet for some friendly combat, uh, training? Near the _ therant _ tree at, say... 23.5 hours? > It would be the middle of the night, like usual for our tail-fighting league, so that the Captain could not disturb us. Old Hoof-and-Tail likes to get his rest.

Prince Elfangor glanced at me with one stalk eye. I did my best to look impassive,but whatever he saw must have convinced him, because he made a strange downward motion with his head and said, <Yes. Why not?>

<Excellent,> Mertil said with satisfaction. He brought his tail blade forward in a gesture as if he were ready to touch it to the Prince’s, though they did not--it would have drawn too much attention. Instead he let the motion stand for their pact. <I’m eager to be humbled by your skill.>

<And I as well,> Prince Elfangor said. Then, surprising me greatly, he went on, <After all, it’s been so long since I’ve been truly challenged in a fight.> Suddenly I realized that the great Prince Elfangor was not so much older than we were. He looked a lot less tired when he smiled.

Mertil, too, appeared taken aback. I stayed silent, looking back and forth between them. Then Elfangor gave us a showy tail-salute and cantered off to confer with a group of the ship’s engineers. Mertil, for his part, made a display of swaggering a little past his group of friends, who gestured approval at him. He slashed his tail this way and that through the air, as if he’d already begun warming up for the fight. 

I also noticed that he made stalk eye contact with Aloth, who stood somewhat apart from the other. Aloth held his tail blade gently in one hand and stroked it with two fingers in a calculated, somewhat unnerving gesture. He looked up sharply when he saw the direction of my gaze, and I looked away.

<Well, that’s exciting,> I told Mertil.

<Yes,> he said, trying to radiate nonchalance and failing utterly. <I suppose it is.>

I hit at him with the side of my tail blade. He blocked it with ease. We trotted off to join Mertil’s admiring friends and to receive their enthusiastic prognostications about the upcoming fight.

As the time for it approached, though, I could see that Mertil growing anxious.

We had retired to our quarters after our evening feeding and Mertil was trying to pace back and forth in the cramped space. 

<Hey!> I said, the second time he nearly kicked over one of my pots of  _ illsipar _ .

<I didn’t sign up to live in a forest.>

<Well, I didn’t sign up to live with a clumsy Taxxon.>

<I had more space when I was an  _ aristh _ !>

We exchanged more playful insults and light, glancing tail-strikes, though it was difficult in the cramped confines of our quarters. This served the purpose of allowing Mertil to warm up and draining some of our nervous energy. This time it was I who nearly trod on one of my plant pots. 

<Fine,> I admitted. <You have a point. I will harvest some of my roots soon. I may even have to, if you lose this match.>

<I will not lose.>

Mertil prepares himself for fights by puffing up his pride and aggression. I do much the same, so I understand it. He also has the ability to do something I cannot: enter the Warrior’s Trance. I’ve heard Elfangor does this, too. That’s part of why we’re all so excited to see them fight. It will be like something out of Andalite legend.

At 23 hours we headed toward the Dome, walking quietly through the corridors to avoid awakening anyone not involved in our league. Mertil was reciting poetry to himself as we walked. I know this helps him to enter his trance, so I forbore from mocking him.

Mostly. <What are you on about this time?> I asked him, as we entered the Dome to find Satril, Pareon, Aloth, and several other pilots already standing beneath the Dome’s lone  _ therant _ tree.

<It’s from  _ The Power of Water _ , by Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen. Listen, I really like this part.  _ The most graceful technique to break your enemy's resistance is to appear as if you are not resisting _ ,> he quoted.

A thoughtspeak voice echoed suddenly in our heads. <Some of us have heard that already,> said Prince Elfangor, stepping out from behind the  _ therant _ . 

Mertil jumped. You wouldn’t think it to look at him--Elfangor moves in a kind of awkward way if you watch him during normal activities--but he can be soundless and stealthy when he chooses. And it’s not easy to sneak up on any Andalite, especially Mertil. I allowed myself to be grudgingly impressed.

<My Prince,> Mertil said, lowering his stalk eyes a bit in deferent greeting. 

<Warrior.>

<You are familiar with the poem?> Mertil said, almost shyly.

Prince Elfangor’s expression grew wry. <I should say so. Forlay is my mother.>

<Is he joking?> Mertil asked me in private thoughtspeak.

<I don’t think so.>

<Wow. That is… wow.> See… even I know that Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen is a notorious anti-military activist. It is very surprising that she would be the mother of Prince Elfangor.

<No wonder he doesn’t talk about her much.>

<Wow,> Mertil said again, taking a few fast steps to one side as if to shake off his surprise. I could also feel that he was… impressed? He admires Forlay; even though her work is anti-military, he insists it is actually quite martial in spirit. This paradox, he says, lies at the center of good poetry. Violence and quietude. Creation and destruction.

Listen, I don’t pretend to understand this stuff, myself.

<Don’t let him distract you,> I warned Mertil. <Just because he is a Prince does not mean he is above such things.>

<Clearly,> Mertil said, sounding as sharp as usual once again--though he kept one stalk eye on Prince Elfangor as he began to run through his warmups. I parried Mertil’s blade while he did the same. He was striking hard; it took some effort for me to repel him. <He is Forlay’s son. I believe that may explain much.>

We moved to the center of the field so they could begin their combat. I stood slightly apart from the others watching, maybe because they could see my tail lashing in anxiety for Mertil. I noted that the irritating _ aristh _ was there, Jashar or Jarat or whatever his name was.

<Who let _ him _ into the league? > I murmured to Pareon, who made a noncommittal gesture. Hmph. It was probably him. Pareon is recently an  _ aristh _ himself and I know the two are friends.

<Are we ready?> Satril asked our group, strutting in a circle around Elfangor and Mertil, who had arranged themselves in the traditional stance for tail-fighting, front hooves forward toward each other and tails held up in a high arch. Posed thus they resembled fighter craft ready for flight. I noted that they were well-matched, Elfangor slightly larger but Mertil more lithe and sleek. In any case, Mertil is used to training against me, so he can easily parry even very strong blows. 

I could see Mertil taking deep breaths, filling his lungs. The look in his eyes was one I knew: the perfect calm of the Warrior’s Trance, the _ isthourrilin _ . Elfangor appeared almost comically disengaged by contrast, blinking his stalk eyes at our gathered group, his arms held up in front of his face rather than tucked back toward his lower torso, as most fighters do. An odd choice; it made him a larger target.

<Warriors to the ready,> Satril said formally. He lifted his own tail high. <Strike with valor and honor. Begin!> He brought his tail down between the two fighters and then danced back out of their way.

Mertil leapt forward, tail cutting forward in the side-strike we had practiced so often. The move was almost too fast to follow. But Prince Elfangor dodged it! He wheeled and parried the blow with a quick sharp movement of his forearm, a surprising tactic, and swung his own tailblade in the opposite direction instead of moving to counter Mertil. I could see that Mertil was surprised by the move, but he recovered quickly. He snapped his tail easily to meet Prince Elfangor’s, spinning his body to lend the blow extra force--the Prince would not be able to parry this one with his arm.

So fast! I kept losing track of their moves. Their tails became a blue blur and their hooves danced over the grass. I could feel the steady undercurrent of Mertil’s mind in my own, his determination. Getting to sense the  _ isthourrilin  _ even secondhand is a wondrous experience… it is a calm that is sharp yet subtle, adamant yet motile, as fast as running water yet as implacable as growing grass.

I began to wonder if even the Warrior’s Trance might be enough for Mertil now, however. Prince Elfangor had backed him so that he was almost in the shadow of the  _ therant _ tree. Aloth gave me a sly look. Pareon said, <Look at him!> and I knew he was talking about Elfangor. I felt anger ripple my flanks and sent my strongest thoughts toward Mertil. But he stumbled! Prince Elfangor had swiped at his foreleg. The Prince looked like a different Andalite when he moved this way, like a dangerous creature from ancient legend. Mertil looked… like  _ Mertil _ , which is always glorious: the blue of his fur moving like water over hard muscle.

A strike! Prince Elfangor’s blade arched forward toward Mertil’s throat! 

Mertil leapt backwards, ducking his upper torso as he did so, so that instead of hitting him the Prince’s tail embedded itself in an outspread branch of the  _ therant _ tree. I winced unconsciously at the damage to the bark while Elfangor strove to pull his tail free, but I also felt a surge of pride in my mate. Elfangor managed to yank his tail out of the branch. He began to draw it back to defensive position. Mertil, instead of moving backward and out of tail range, moved forward. A headlong rush toward the Prince! Prince Elfangor began to duck away from the tree that impeded his movement, but Mertil flung himself bodily at the Prince. He knocked into Elfangor! Even though the Prince was a larger Andalite, he had not expected this sudden rush. He was slammed into the trunk of the  _ therant _ , too crowded to use his tail.

Mertil whipped his own tail blade up and forwards. He halted it hovering a breath from the Prince’s throat.

I let go my breath.

<Well fought,> Prince Elfangor said, once he had recovered his balance and brushed his coat free of bits of bark and leaves. He lowered his stalk eyes and head slightly. Bowing! The Prince was bowing to Mertil. He also made a forward motion with one hand, an odd movement that he quickly retracted. Normally, hand-touches are romantic gestures. 

I felt a peculiar sensation of warm pride mixed with something a bit more volatile. 

<And you,> Mertil responded in the traditional manner. He cast a stalk eye my way. <In truth this fight was not entirely fair. I have much experience dodging plants.>

<HA!> Pareon said, looking between myself and Mertil, proud that he understood the joke. I scuffed my hoof dismissively in the grass, embarrassed. I could see that Mertil was quite winded and moving oddly; a touch of my mind and I realized he had hurt his ribs while slamming the Prince against the tree. Mertil is not at all careful when he fights. Because of this I have become a more than usually competent field medic. I knew I would be treating him in our quarters tonight to save his pride from a public visit to the sick bay.

Plus, of course, a visit to the sick bay would lead to questions about how the injuries occurred.

I approached the others to settle my bets, somewhat glad that I could keep the _ illsipar  _ to help dull Mertil’s pain instead of wasting it on this group of fools. Pareon told me he’d give me his sim room hours for the next hand’s span of days. Satril knows me well and granted me a better favor--he has a cousin who works in grass art and he said she would landscape the space around Mertil’s and my scoop. After I settled these bets I found myself distracted by Prince Elfangor, who seemed not to mind the gentle teasing he took from the others about his loss. In fact he almost appeared to enjoy it. 

<When I was your age,> he was telling  _ aristh _ whatever-his-name-is, <I was a terrible 

tail-fighter! It took my first combat experience to truly grow into my tail. I thought too much, that was my problem.>

<That is not a problem common among fighter pilots,> Aloth remarked to me in what I guessed was private thoughtspeak, since no one else responded to the gibe. I twitched and turned to eye him. He jerked one stalk eye my way, gesturing me over. He began walking, all but demanding that I follow him alongside the course of the running stream. 

It was odd. He did not appear upset to have lost our bet. I guess he didn’t much care; I never knew him to particularly favor _ illsipar _ given he likes seeming calm and cool--stimulants don’t fit his persona. But then why had he taken the bet in the first place? 

<Congratulations,> he said, in a snide sideways manner that was truly starting to prickle my fur. <Your mate certainly did want to win that one.>

I wasn’t sure what he meant. It was also exceedingly rude of him to speak of Mertil’s and my relationship so casually. <He wanted to and he did,> I said. <Anyway, I win our bet.>

<Yes,> Aloth said, <You do indeed. Has he told you what you have won?>

<I had no idea you and Mertil spoke about it.>

<Oh, yes.>

I could see he wanted me to ask directly. <Fine. What have I won?>

<In a manner of speaking, your life.>

<Explain,> I said bluntly. I had no patience for Aloth’s games. 

<I know of a cure to _ Soola _ ’s disease.>

My hearts all but stopped. I had to look down to make sure I had not accidentally trodden in the river, as I felt cold. <Don’t joke about that.> My tail blade was up and tensed, and I swear I was ready to strike at him for such an off-color jest.

<I do not joke. It wasn’t easy to find out, but I have certain connections.>

<You?>

Aloth smiled bitterly and I realized how my tone must have sounded. <Yes, even me,  _ Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad _ .>

<If you have access to such a thing, why would you share it with me? Clearly, we do not get along.> I felt foolish as soon as I said it. Mertil is always telling me I am prone to stating the obvious.

<You won our bet. I am an Andalite of honor.>

I remained silent.

<Call it charity. Certainly I have received my share.> There’s a rumor someone acted as Aloth’s patron so he could progress his training as a sniper. His demeanor shifted. <In any case. I know we all mistrust kindness lately… so let me say this. I assume that this is a gift that will repay itself severalfold.>

<How? What do you expect?>

<Well, if you’re cured, you will have that much longer to nobly protect us all in battle. A service to you is, thus, a service to myself.>

Aloth was maddening, but if he spoke even a partial truth… it would be just like him to hold something like this over my head. <All right. So where is it?> I have made some study of the disease myself in my pursuit of biochemistry. There is no cure in development of which I am aware--though  _ Soola _ ’s is a rare disease and only recently discovered, so it hasn’t been studied much. I supposed it was possible someone had made a breakthrough of which I was unaware. <More to the point,  _ what _ is it?>

<It is a method a… friend… of mine teaching at the Academy has developed. I am told it involves the isolation of proteins from exogenous tissue, but I am no expert.>

<If it is so effective, why is it not widely available?>

Aloth moved his stalk eyes evasively. <It has not been fully tested. It may carry some risk.>

<Of course.> I knew there had to be a catch.

<But you are a fighter pilot. Your type loves to take risks.>

I had to admit this was true. 

<In addition… the cure is difficult to obtain. I’m going to need something further from you, as well.>

Ah. Here was what he hoped to gain from me: string me along so that I kept owing him favors. <What?>

<Your discretion.>

<I don’t understand.>

<Of course not. Look…> Aloth cut his stalk eyes in two different directions, aware that others had begun to approach. <... Discuss it with your mate. We’ve spoken of this already. He’ll explain.>

My tail blade twitched. <What-- > I started, but Aloth had already turned away.


	4. Chapter Four

<Did you see that? Did you really _see_ it, though? > Mertil crowed. We had returned to our quarters. I was trying to apply a chemical salve to his ribs to aid their healing. He made it difficult. It seemed he wanted to reenact the entire fight. Mertil is wonderful in many ways, but he is not gracious in victory.

<If you don’t hold still I will give you a peremptory _unschweet_ ,> I warned him.

<Hm, I think we know whose tail is faster.>

I somehow restrained myself from sighing. I completed my ministrations, cleaned my hands, and stepped back. Mertil looked comical with his sides covered in dull green salve.

<So,> he said, trying to be casual. <I saw you talking to Aloth…>

<I dislike him a great deal.>

<I know he can be abrasive, but he is not all bad,> Mertil protested.

<You would befriend a _Taxxon_. >

<It is my natural charm.>

In truth, Mertil does have patience for even the most intolerable people. He is the kind of Andalite others find it a pleasure to be around… even those who do not deserve the privilege of his company.

<Seriously, Mertil, he is probably my least favorite person on this ship-- >

<Not the little _aristh_? >

<That one is annoying, no more. But you know how I feel about Aloth, and now I hear you have made a deal with him? So he says, anyhow.>

<You should talk to him sometime,> Mertil said. <Really talk, not just exchange insults. Which I might start taking the wrong way if I didn’t know you were simply being sincere.>

I did not dignify this with an answer. Mertil knows that of the two of us, I am not the one inclined to flirt. <I suppose I do view him in a certain light because of his background. But he has an unsavory manner.>

<He is very disillusioned by some aspects of military culture,> Mertil told me, careful to be quiet even in private thoughtspeak. <I can’t say that I entirely disagree with his views.>

Some people think that just because Mertil and I are pair-bonded, we agree about everything. It’s not so.

<You know I have no desire to discuss this. We will only argue.>

<All right.> Mertil became uncharacteristically contrite. He even lowered his tail a bit and sidled up to me, so that the difference in our heights became more evident. I eyed him suspiciously. Next he would suggest we ingest some _illsipar_. This is what he always does when about to ask a favor.  <I just… you did tell him yes, right?>

<He told me to speak to you.>

<Oh.>

<So I am. So tell me, what did he ask of you?>

<He wants me… us… to look the other way about some arbitrary rules,> Mertil said. <It’s basically harmless. Listen, Gafinilan, his friend knows of a cure for _Soola_ ’s. This could be--this could change _everything_. > There was a ragged note in his voice that caused an odd feeling to travel up my hooves. He was looking at me with all four of his eyes. <Why must you always find reason to reject any aid someone wants to give you?>

<I do not-- >

<You do. You always do! You are so suspicious… sometimes I believe it is out of fear.>

<You are too trusting,> I said flatly.

<I am far from trusting. That’s exactly my point. Why should we unthinkingly obey every edict the military hands down to us? Don’t you think it’s important to do some things on our own?>

<If that’s so I might as well become a _nothlit_. If honor means nothing. >

Mertil winced. The last time we discussed this topic… we spent almost a season on different planets, as that was the only way to escape the agony of anger and resentment we felt through our bond.

<I’m not saying that,> he said quietly. <Don’t you see, I’m trying to find another way.>

I felt dizzy and anxious. I very much dislike arguing with my _shorm_. And my emotions were already frayed from recent events.  <Aloth said the cure might be dangerous,> I said.

Mertil was silent, watching me hopefully.

<Perhaps I am afraid,> I said at last.

<From what I understand the cure has a small chance of causing genetic mutation,> Mertil said. <It would not kill you. It might cause other damage; I do not know. But I believe--Gafinilan, truly, I believe it might work. Aloth’s friend is quite brilliant, from what I have learned.>

<This is all very mysterious,> I grumbled. <Why could this cure not be tested more openly?>

<Blame our Electorate,> Mertil said. <Slow to accept anything new. Even good things.>

<Hm,> I said. I think there is some value to conservatism.

<Anyway,> Mertil said, in an open gambit to change the subject. One I did not at all mind. <Let’s try a bulb of your _illsipar_. I don’t know about you, but I could use a little relaxation. >

<Your ribs are causing you pain, aren’t they?>

<I feel no pain. I am as stone. I am-- >

I prodded him with the blunt side of my tail blade.

<Ouch.>

<I’ll prepare us some _illsipar_. >

* * *

 We awoke to the sound of alarms. All pilots were being called to the bridge. Immediately, Mertil and I leapt into action, strapping on our ammunition bandoliers, Mertil ignoring the remainder of the salve still plastered to his side. What had been comical last night was serious today.

<You can move well enough?> I demanded as we prepared to leave.

Mertil twisted side to side experimentally and made a quick decision. <Give me a hormone injection.> It would increase his alertness and temporarily dull pain. I did so. We rushed as fast as we could--while maintaining order--to the bridge, where I could see Captain Nerefir standing at the helm. The starry black of real space extended around us, vast and deep. We must have transitioned out of Zero-space while most of the crew slept. But why? My question was answered soon enough.

<Warriors!> Nerefir said, his thoughtspeak so loud it filled our skulls. <A Z-space rift has closed. We have entered real space near enough to the Ssstram planet that the Yeerks have detected our presence.> His voice was calm, but I knew this was very bad news.

He stepped aside, deferring to Prince Elfangor, who would give us our immediate orders.

The Elfangor who stood on the bridge was nothing like the playful Andalite who had jested with the _aristh_ after fighting Mertil. He was not even like the warrior from legend who had fought with such mesmerizing skill. Instead he was Elfangor the Prince, our battle commander. He even stood more rigidly, like metal made flesh. <Fighter pilots, go to your spacecraft. The Yeerks may know we are here, but they do not know what we can do. Let’s show them.>

Mertil and I had no time to exchange words with anyone. We rushed to our fighters to run through the precise calibrations we always engaged in before battle. I could sense Mertil entering the _isthourrilin_ once again, though under very different circumstances from last night. My hearts began to beat fast. I could feel cold prickles swarming across my body, as if my fur stood on end. The moment before a battle is… I’m sure there are poems about it, but they cannot truly describe how it feels. It is sublime. It is the time when I feel the most aware of everything around me. I may not be like Mertil or Elfangor, able to attain some higher state of being, but I am a highly trained fighter pilot. I am able to experience the exquisite synergy of my brain and body acting as they have been programmed to do, to engage in the deadly task that is the true reason for my existence. This--this is what days and weeks and years of drudgery, of lessons and drills and flight sims, are all about. This moment of fearful bliss before the fight… and then the wanton roar of battle.

Prince Elfangor gave us the order to engage our thrusters. In formation, I fly just off Mertil’s right wing. It’s a comfortable, natural place, slightly above and behind him, ready to move on anyone who poses a threat.

Which, at the moment, was the cadre of Bug fighters already winging our way.

<S formation,> our Squad Commander Loernellan ordered. <Break and engage once we have spread to surround them.>

We engaged our thrusters, moving as one deadly animal in many bodies, from the brilliant light and grass of the GalaxyTree out into the unforgiving black of space. Our craft spread out into the snaking line that is designed to make it hard to target us--the staggering of the formation line creates an optical illusion that some are closer and some further than we truly are. As Bug fighters use direct visual input for close combat this method is often effective.

Our target assignments--priority one, two, and three--popped up on our holo screens. The bright dots representing Bug fighters seemed to me an itch on my flank, to be scratched expediently.

While we were still at the very edge of Shredder cannon range, I fired. Hit! The fighter bloomed into a flower of metal and light.

Mertil fired a breath after me. He missed the body of the Bug fighter he had targeted and hit only one of its red-glowing thrusters. The Yeerk craft hitched and bucked but did not explode, merely drifted slightly… slightly off course and toward one of its fellows.

I saw my opportunity. I sent a quick request for permission to the Squad Commander and then fired. The brilliant light of the Shredder lanced silently through space. Explosion! And… explosion again! The Bug fighter had smashed into its neighbor, taking them both out of the fight in a single blow.

<Nicely done!> That was Pareon, able to engage in conversation even as he shunted his thrusters to Maximum Burn to chase a fleeing Bug fighter.

<I meant to do that,> Mertil told me.

<All part of your plan, right?> I said, taking aim at Target Two and releasing my hold on the trigger. This time I had less luck; the Bug fighter looped in a crazy spiral to avoid the shot.

<Is it me,> Mertil said grimly, <Or have the Yeerks performed some upgrades on their Bug fighters?>

<They’ve definitely had upgrades.> Probably sensors that could detect the energy of Shredder fire, allowing them to evade us more easily. We’ve had a similar system on our ships for years, but we didn’t expect the Yeerks to steal that technology quite so soon.

<Cover me,> Mertil said suddenly.

<What-- >

But he had already engaged his thrusters. I saw what he was doing--he wanted to get close enough to the Bug fighters that they wouldn’t be able to begin evasive maneuvers by the time he’d fired his Shredder cannon. It was a good idea. It was also insanely dangerous. After all, at that range his own ship’s Dracon sensors would be ineffective, too.

He swooped forward at Maximum Burn! So fast I thought he was going to collide with the Bug fighter--but he did not. Instead he altered his course and sped beneath them, the two ships belly-to-belly--and then he spun and fired! A direct hit. The Bug fighter wallowed, crashed into its fellow, and blew up.

<Yah-ha!> Mertil yelled in exhilaration.

<Watch out!> Several more Bug fighters had popped out of Zero-space behind the Yeerk line--dangerously close to Mertil. I fired on one, but was unable to hit the rest; he was in the way. I sent a quick alert to Squad Commander Loernellan, who aimed one of his Shredder cannons at the others. We were able to coordinate our attack enough for Mertil to break free and return. Indeed, they seemed to have no interest in giving chase at all… instead I saw the remains of the Yeerks’ Bug fighter force turning! Preparing to run away.

I was about to ask Loernellan if we should give chase when I heard Prince Elfangor’s thoughtspeak over the communication system. <Withdraw. I repeat, all fighters withdraw to the Dome and prepare to enter Zero-space. The Yeerks have dropped mining bombs.>

Mining bombs! Powerful explosives that can reduce small planets to rubble. That was what the second wave of Bug fighters had dragged out of Z-space and that was why they had fled so quickly. I returned to formation immediately, but Mertil lagged.

<Mertil!>

<It is Pareon,> he yelled at me, and I saw that the young pilot’s ship had been hit so that its main thruster was disabled. He’d be unable to enter Z-space on his own. Further, he’d been pursuing a fleeing Bug Fighter when we got the call to pull back, so he was even further behind Yeerk lines than Mertil.

<You cannot save him!>

Mertil hesitated for only a moment, then went to Maximum Burn, hurrying to join the rest of us. But even as he flew toward formation, I heard him speaking to Pareon. <Listen,> he said. The other pilot had already begun the death ritual. Mertil had to shout to interrupt him. <Listen! Pareon! You must enter atmosphere! Head toward the planet! The Yeerks will not allow their bombs to reach the planetary surface!>

Pareon broke off his death ritual. <I-- >

<Go!> Mertil screamed.

I saw the distant shape of Pareon’s fighter turn and begin to approach the planet that swirled with muddy reddish gases in its upper atmosphere. Then we completed our race to the Dome Ship and popped into Zero-space even as the Yeerks’ bombs went off.

* * *

 We had scarcely entered the safety of Z-space and disembarked from our fighters back into the Dome when Captain Nerefir called Mertil to his private quarters. I felt Mertil’s anger and frustration as he followed, but I was blocked from the private communication that ensued. I myself evaded the others. I could see that they looked downcast. Satril’s stalk eyes drooped; I know he is good friend with Pareon.

Mertil joined us again as we gathered at the bridge for the post-battle debriefing. I saw that his fur had been partially shorn and regretted my offhand comment the previous night about _unschweet_. I had not known it would become a reality. In addition, he was moving stiffly, still pained by his ribs. I had to restrain myself from going to comfort him as we prepared for debrief.

I did say, in private thoughtspeak, <What happened?>

<Captain Nerefir believed Pareon better dead than potentially a captive of the Yeerks. I disagreed.>

I could just imagine how that conflict had gone. Nerefir is not an Andalite who deals well with any hint of insubordination. At least he’d had the forbearance to reprimand Mertil in private, rather than before the whole crew.

I sent Mertil calming thoughts, but he reacted fiercely. <I would do the same again.>

We stood at attention to receive our debrief. Everyone, even the _arisths_ and engineering crew, was in attendance. We learned that the only loss in our fleet had been Pareon, and that filtering of Yeerk transcripts showed that he had not been detected on the planet’s surface. We learned that the Yeerks had not only two Pool Ships in orbit but also a Kandrona set up on a planet’s surface--a major blow to our planned aerial-only operation. In addition, preliminary sensors showed that they had been mining resources from the Ssstram world for several months, unknown to us as we had been traveling. They were far more deeply entrenched here than we had assumed.  

<We do not have the necessary ground forces for a full-scale planetary invasion,> said the T.O., after Captain Nerefir had tersely laid out the specifics of our situation. <We’ve put in a call for support, but for now, battle on the surface is an impossibility.>

I shot a glance at Mertil. This order meant Pareon was all but doomed, stranded with no chance of escape. To my surprise, I saw Mertil making intense eye contact with Prince Elfangor, who was looking back with both stalk eyes. It appeared they were engaged in private conversation.

When the T.O. finished giving his report and stepped back, Elfangor made a downward motion with his chin, then turned to him and the Captain. <I understand you do not wish us to commence planetary operations without a ground force. However…>

I glanced sideways at Mertil. He gave me a grim look of satisfaction.

<... we currently have a pilot stranded on the surface. This is an untenable situation.>

<We cannot leave him!> It wasn’t Mertil who said it, or even Satril. To my great surprise, it was the little _aristh_ who so annoyed me. Ah, yes. I recalled that Pareon was only a year older than he was, and that he had mentored him through the Academy.

Prince Elfangor stopped and stared at the uppity cadet, as did many of the rest of us. It almost seemed that he smiled.

< _Aristh_ Ajaht-Litsom-Esth, be silent!> thundered Captain Nerefir, stalk eyes quivering in anger. He turned to Prince Elfangor. <Elfangor, you cannot demand this of them. It would be…> he tapered off and made a sudden, decisive movement with his tail. They seemed to speak for a moment privately while all of us waited, hardly able to breathe. Then the Captain turned away. <Fine,> he said.

Elfangor stepped forward once more. <The Captain makes an excellent point,> he said formally. <Any rescue mission would surely bring much danger.> An understatement. Given the extent of the Yeerk presence on the planet, we all knew it would be close to a suicide mission. <Thus, I will not obligate anyone to go. Those who wish to aid your comrade, however, may volunteer.>

Of course Mertil stepped forward first. <I will go,> he said, rearing up onto his hind legs so that he could be seen among the rows of warriors. It was an impressive sight despite his raggedly sheared fur, the evidence of his recent _unschweet_.

Where Mertil went, I went. <I volunteer.>

<And I,> Satril said.

<Me. I want to go!> That was the _aristh_! What was the matter with him? He was maybe half my size and had a slim, feminine build, but he could have taught lessons on recklessness to Mertil. Nonetheless… despite myself, I almost found myself beginning to like him.

Almost.

<You will get in the way,> I warned him.

<I am morph-capable,> he informed me. It’s a standard component of military training, but some _arisths_ don’t go through it until they are nearly full warriors.  <In fact, my mother is a famous morph dancer. You may have heard of her?> I stared at him in grim silence. He rushed to continue. <I’m quite swift at making transformations. In addition, you will find I don’t lack tail-fighting abilities.>

<Really,> I started to say, but I was interrupted by a drawling thought-speak voice I knew well.

Aloth.

<I suppose this mission needs someone who can aim a Shredder,> he said, and I was so astounded I found myself unable to speak.


	5. Chapter Five

We would be a team of five: myself, Mertil, Aloth, Satril, and the _ aristh _ . Mertil has seniority over everyone but myself, but nonetheless I was happy to agree with Prince Elfangor’s assessment that he should be our leader. He is far more inclined than I am to take that role. His first action as commander was to suggest we move to the Dome, in order to have space to run while we thought of our plan of attack. 

Mertil is an excellent strategist. He thinks along many paths at the same time. It is similar to the way he grazes: wide-ranging, consuming many types of grass. I am quite the opposite. I prefer to savor my grass varieties one by one, so that I may better and more deeply appreciate them. I do my planning the same way, diving deeply into a topic rather than dancing over a wide range of thoughts. If I begin exploration of an idea, I follow it to its end. Mertil prefers to spin wildly from one idea to another, associating based on the slightest thread. 

That was what he was doing at the moment, his mind wandering as he galloped back and forth across the grass. He ignored the pain of his still-knitting ribs. I reminded him that I would need to treat them again before we left on the mission, but he brushed me off, still lost in thought.

I myself rested by the stand of  _ derrishoul  _ trees I had made it a habit of tending. One was seeding; I carefully collected its spores. 

It was a distraction. In truth I was considering my fear.

Mertil believes, and perhaps he is correct, that my temperamental conservatism is the result of a struggle with fearfulness. Do I feel fear? Of course. Perhaps it is because I have had more than usual cause to consider my own mortality. Perhaps I was simply made this way. Andalites are prey animals by nature. Our instincts for caution and anxiety are strong.

At the Academy we are taught not to deny our fear. We are taught to embrace it, accept it, even welcome it. Here Mertil would probably interject the poetic phrase “fear is a forest.” If avoided, it will only seem darker and more forbidding. Instead, we must walk through this forest, cataloguing every leaf. Or perhaps, in Mertil’s case, attacking the branches with his tail blade. I myself favor the gentler approach. I prefer to analyze the phenomenon not by analogy but directly, via biology. We Andalites have six separate hormones dedicated to the fight-or-flight response. One of them is mobilized swiftly and engenders confusion, panic, and a strong desire to run. Another, pumped out of a certain gland after the first chemical reaches critical threshold, encourages heightened focus. Three others appear in a cascade, loosening the muscles of the tail and quickening its nerve response, and the final chemical washes the brain in a soothing bath of acceptance and even peace. Thus fear is not truly one phenomenon but encompasses three distinct stages: panic, active response, and acceptance. It is necessary, when it strikes, to master control over its course. Ideally a fighter remains in the secondary stage. It’s believed that those able to enter the Warrior’s Trance have greater ability than others to leap immediately into the second stage with minimal time spent in the first, but every warrior can learn the tools that allow for self-control in combat.

For myself, I know that my body is prone to either returning me to the first stage of panic, which makes me impetuous, or moving me too quickly into acceptance and fatalism. I must work constantly to overcome this volatile tendency. Thus, my natural caution. It is a reaction to my physiochemical instability.

Tending the  _ derrishoul _ trees helped me to enter a meditative state. At least, it did until the  _ aristh _ approached me.

At least he knew the proper greeting to give. He bowed his stalk eyes and upper torso low enough to appear ever so slightly _ too  _ subservient. I narrowed my main eyes at him.

<Warrior Gafinilan, may I speak?>

What was I supposed to say?  _ No, go away _ ? <You may.>

He dug one hoof into the grass in a gesture of discomfort. <I am aware you do not have much respect for me. However, I want to assure you that I will serve you well on this mission. As I said before-- >

<Yes, yes, you know how to morph and have not slept through your tail-fighting classes, very good. What I’m more concerned about is whether or not  you can follow orders. Thus far I’m unimpressed.>

<I seeded the riverbank as you requested.>

<I trust the seed when the grass grows,> I said, quoting an old proverb at him. Sometimes I worry I am turning into my own old teacher Sofor.

<I will show you,> he said.

<I hope you do. But this mission is not your chance to prove yourself,> I warned the arrogant youngster. <It is our chance--our  _ only  _ chance--to save your friend. You understand?>

He indicated assent, stalk eyes skirting mine. Luckily, the uncomfortable moment was interrupted by an even more uncomfortable presence. Aloth. He approached us side-by-side with Mertil, Satril trailing the two of them. Our group gathered beside the  _ derrishoul  _ stand. I finished tucking the spores I had been collecting into the sample pouch that hung from my shoulders and gave them my full attention.

<I believe we have come up with a plan,> Mertil said, shifting his weight restlessly from hoof to hoof as he addressed us all. He glanced from one face to another. <First, I want to thank you with all of my hearts for joining me in this mission. It is good to see so many truly loyal Andalites.>

Even cynical Aloth appeared buoyed by this remark, and the  _ aristh _ ’s drooping stalk eyes perked up. As I’ve said, Mertil has a powerful effect on people. Satril, who is less sanguine by nature, still appeared to be brooding; I did not blame him. <Yes, five of us,> Satril muttered to me in private thoughtspeak. <An  _ aristh _ , an assassin, and you two mad ones.> It’s possible that Mertil and I have a reputation for risk-taking.

<Aloth,> Mertil said, turning to the sniper. <You had an idea.>

<Yes.> Aloth stepped forward into the center of our little circle, maintaining a little slouch in his hind legs as he did so. I saw even the aristh looking at him disapprovingly for that. There is a subtle caste difference at work here. Upper caste members, like Mertil and the a _ risth _ , tend to carry themselves with upright posture that seems to them a birthright. Lower caste members like Aloth tend to affect a slouch that is meant ironically but in truth does spring from their humble roots. <The most difficult part of the mission may be simply getting to the planetary surface. We’ve seen the strength of the Yeerk’s presence in orbit.>

Satril bobbed his stalk eyes. So, reluctantly, did I. It had in truth been the source of much of my concern. 

<Thus, I have an offer.> Aloth waited, drawing out the suspense in a way he no doubt found deeply gratifying. We all waited impatiently for his solution. <We stow ourselves aboard a ship that would be approaching the surface in any case.>

<What ship?> That was Satril, sounding skeptical.

<A Skrit-Na freighter.>

<Skrit-Na?> I whipped my tail in anxiety. <What access do you have to the Skrit-Na?>

<I am not without connections,> Aloth said, his eyes still heavy-lidded as he looked at me. 

<Gafinilan, it is a very good idea,> Mertil said.

<A Skrit would be a fascinating morph,> mused the  _ aristh _ , who had apparently not gotten my point that he should forbear from speaking in superior company. <After all, they metamorphose naturally, so the two-hour limit would not apply.>

<Yes, and if you plan to spend a season inside of a cocoon I wish you well,> I told him. <Aloth, how will you get us onto a Skrit-Na freighter, much less deal with those strange creatures?>

<Our people find the Skrit-Na so bemusing,> Aloth said with scorn. <In truth the key to dealing with them is simple, which is why the Yeerks have had great success while we have not. They will simply require something rare and valuable in trade.> He continued before I could ask what exactly what might be. <I know of a Skrit-Na ship already bound for one of the Yeerk mines on the planet’s surface. I will negotiate passage.>

<How-- >

<Gafinilan.> Mertil cut me off sharply. I could sense the thoughtspeak rebuke bubbling just beneath the surface. He was going to accuse me of mistrust and fearfulness. Again. I subsided, not wishing to fight with my mate in front of these others. Mertil, relieved at my gracious forbearance, continued. <Good. So we have a plan. When can you make contact with this freighter?>

<At once, Commander,> Aloth said. 

<Excellent. Let us prepare for our trip to the Ssstram planet. Don’t bother packing much; we won’t be there long.>

We departed for our quarters, with plans to meet at the bridge in an hour. I set up a system of automatic watering and light change for my plants and gathered the necessities for our mission, primarily my medical equipment in case of emergency. Mertil gathered extra ammunition and several of his non-standard-issue-Shredders, along with force-field and energy generators. Mertil had me scrub the remainder of the salve off his flanks and give him a nanoinjection. It was quite painful but would complete the healing process for his ribs. After he had recovered and regained composure, I thought to address one of my concerns.

<Mertil… I know the intent is for us to morph the Skrit-Na in order to fool the Yeerks, but what will you do?>

You see, Mertil has a morphing allergy. It’s not a problem for him as a pilot, but for stealth work as this was, it could be a handicap. Mertil does not enjoy this being brought up. His tail stiffened, then relaxed. 

<Actually, you’ll be morphing Skrit,> he told me. <The Na have a cultural prohibition against allowing us to take their mature form.>

He was trying to evade my question. I sensed it was not because he had not come up with a solution. I sensed it was because he had come up with a solution I would not like. <What about you?> I pressed.

<Aloth has thought of…> he trailed off, then continued with determined brightness. <... another truly excellent idea.>

<Oh, no,> I said. If Mertil thinks something is an excellent idea, it is probably ill-advised and dangerous.

<It’s quite clever. Just tell me--do you have one of those long-duration oxygen hoods?>

I checked my kit. <Yes. Two.> To my surprise, he did not mock me as usual for my overpreparedness.

Instead he said, <Perfect. Let’s go.>

I sighed and followed.


	6. Chapter Six

Our first step was to reconnoiter with the Skrit-Na ship Aloth had contacted. For this purpose we used an abandoned fueling station on an asteroid just outside of the Ssstram system. We took an ancient Model Sixteen--well-cloaked--from the Dome Ship to this stopping place, then waited edgily for their arrival.

<You are certain the Skrit-Na will be here?> Perhaps Mertil is right and I am untrusting by nature. I’m not sure it’s a bad thing.

<Yes,> Aloth said. <Though they lack our time sense and thus are not always punctual.>

He was proven right again when the Skrit-Na freighter appeared against the black of space. It waddled and clanked its way to landing. Skrit-Na are not masters of engineering. They aren’t masters of anything, as far as I can tell, except for collecting bits and pieces of what others create.

We stowed our ship on the asteroid, still cloaked, and made our way to the Skrit-Na ship. They took us onboard in a cumbersome and unsettling manner. Rather than extending a simple ramp, they preferred to use an old-fashioned tractor beam such as we might use for transporting cargo. Once inside their large ship, we could see that it was outfitted in a very outlandish way, with bits and pieces of technology scavenged from throughout the galaxy. It smelled rather musty, like it hadn’t been cleaned for awhile and like maybe it had been in use since the Hork-Bajir Wars. I picked my hoof up to avoid some ages-old goo cake on the floor and saw the small  _ aristh _ doing the same. Mertil, of course, pretended not to care.

One of the Na on board greeted Aloth familiarly. It took some time for our translator chips to kick in, except for Aloth, who I guess had talked to Skrit-Na before.

“... summon one of our Skrit,” the Na was saying by the time my chip caught up to the conversation. It threw its head back and made a loud clicking call. We waited. Nothing happened. Meanwhile, I thought I could see the Na looking at me strangely, though who can tell when a creature has only two eyes? Still, I could swear it was staring at my tail blade. I guess it is unusually large. 

At last a Skrit came scurrying down the hallway of the large freighter. The Na clicked at it some more and it moved forward, then stopped, turning in dull confusion this way and that. Its feelers twitched. 

“You may acquire the DNA of my Skrit associate,” the Na said, rearing up onto its hind legs to gesture with one delicate forelimb. “We have reached satisfactory terms.”

I went first, extending one hand to touch the chitinous exoskeleton of the large creature. Its fractured eye stared at me blankly as I acquired its DNA. Touching it was a bit like touching polished wood: hard and cool and... dead. Satril and the Aristh acquired it next, but when I turned to Aloth, he only made a gesture of dismissal. <I already possess a Skrit morph.>

I was starting to suspect Aloth had suggested we contact the Skrit-Na in order to flaunt his greater experience with them. 

<We thank you,> Mertil told the Na formally. The Na waved one of its delicate hands in a circular gesture that my translator informed me signified casual assent. 

“We have a good relationship with your associate.”

<Now I have an additional request.>

“Yes?” The Na cocked its head to one side, considering him. 

<I believe we will require the aid of several of your Skrit,> Mertil said. He looked toward me. <I will need them to enmesh me in a cocoon for transport.>

So. That was Mertil’s plan. That was why he had neglected to tell me: I would have tried to talk him out of it. You see, Andalites very much dislike being entrapped in small spaces. Claustrophobia is inherent in our species. As fighter pilots, we receive specific training to overcome the aversion, but it’s still difficult. Being wound up in a cocoon, breathing only via an oxygen hood, would feel nightmarish. 

Also, this is  _ Mertil. _ Mertil, who sometimes feels confined even in our relatively spacious shipboard quarters. Sometimes I believe the reason he was so eager to make our union official was simply to obtain the superior room assignment mated couples are accorded.

At this point, though, there really wasn’t any way to talk him out of it. And it was a rational solution. <You know what?> I told Mertil in private thoughtspeak. <Fine, go ahead. If you come out a Na, though, I will divorce you.>

Mertil laughed. In truth, it was clear he was nervous, especially once we figured out the logistics of enclosing him in the cocoon. We had to wrap him in a few initial, sticky, binding strand of the Skrit’s… extrusion… in order to compress his body into a bundle small enough to enclose entirely. This meant he bent all of his legs into his body and tucked his tail flat against his side, the blade curving around his lower torso. He bent his arms and flattened his stalk eyes as if he were in a place of high wind or precipitation. I noted that the  _ aristh _ appeared to be working hard to look appropriately respectful of his superior. Satril wasn’t even trying. He very poorly repressed a smile at seeing Mertil curled up like an infant.

After his body was almost completely wound up in the Skrit’s material, I slipped the oxygen hood over his head, covertly caressing his cheek as I did so. I could tell he appreciated the gesture of affection… he was frightened. It was obvious to me, though not anyone else, of course. Then even his face disappeared from view and the Skrit lifted him expertly, to hang him from a small, mobile rack that appeared to be designed for their incubation. They placed this rack inside of a crate for delivery. That would be our conceit: that we were Skrit crew, simply delivering a package to the Yeerk headquarters on the planet.

Once we had taken care of Mertil, we morphed to Skrit. I have only morphed a couple of times before: to _ kafit _ , which was pleasant, and of course to _ djabala _ for my morphing proficiency test, which was actually quite boring. Neither of those animals has strong instincts. You hear horror stories about Andalites who morph, for example, a Taxxon, though probably no one’s ever actually done that. The Skrit morph was pretty close, though, and I felt worried. For a moment I almost envied Mertil--at least he didn’t have to change his form. But Aloth and the  _ aristh  _ seemed to be well into their morphs, and I hurried to catch up. I concentrated on the insectoid carapace of the creature; on its faceted eyes; on its twitching, multi-jointed limbs. Those were the first to appear, exploding out of my body. It took an effort of will not to react with startlement. 

There was a crackling like frost on grass as my fur was replaced with hard shell. My stalk eyes! They went blind! Then I felt the eerie sensation of them actually sucking back into my head. Meanwhile, my body appeared to be rearing up onto its hind legs without my conscious instruction… but my hind legs were warping, mutating. They weakened sharply. And my tail… my tail also sucked back into my body. It threw off my balance, and I fell forward. I did not hit the foul flooring of the Skrit-Na ship, though. Instead, I found I had many scrabbling legs that caught my large body. My main eyes, by now, had begun to fracture into the many eyes of the Skrit, and my vision dimmed to a narrower spectrum of wavelengths. I could see red and some green, but no blue. Very unlike Andalite eyes.

The Skrit instincts emerged. I had been braced for… for what, I do not know. What came forth was a slow calm, almost a peacefulness. Little hunger; the Skrit metabolize food slowly. But there was… something… some desire. I realized my Skrit body strongly desired to orient itself toward the nearest Na. It wished to be given direction. The Na made an experimental clicking sound… and the Skrit body responded! It sent out a surge of pleasurable feeling like the feeling we Andalites get when we partner-graze. I loved the Na. I wished to do as the Na commanded. I--

\--No. I was an Andalite. Instead of moving toward the Na as I saw the others doing, I reached out to Mertil. His mental state was not pleasant--he was attempting to recite a string of calming words to himself to prevent hyperventilation--but at least it shook me out of the thrall of the Na. 

<Do you see why our friends the Na prefer we do not morph them in their mature form?> Aloth, in his Skrit body, appeared unaffected by the pull of the Na. <We would have control over a veritable Skrit army.>

<I dislike this morph,> I told Aloth coldly. <There seem to be risks of which we were unaware.> I reached out to the others. <Satril!  _ Aristh  _ Ajaht!>

One of them had begun turning slowly in place; the other butted up against the Na who had made the clicking. The Na emitted a sound that seemed akin to our laughter. 

“Are you enjoying this form, Andalites?” it said. 

I did not answer.

<Satril?> I said instead.

<Ah!> One of the Skrit made wild movements with its mandibles. <Yes. Yes, Gafinilan.> With Mertil in a box, I presumed that I was in temporary control of the others by virtue of seniority. Not a role I relish, but also not a role I was about to cede to Aloth.

The  _ aristh _ seemed more lost in the morph. I saw it… him… lowering his mandibles to the floor and beginning to consume some of the goo there. Yes. Definitely he was experiencing  _ notallsith _ . His natural impulsiveness and immaturity must have made the morph difficult for him.

< _ Aristh _ ,> I snapped at him. <Come to order.> No response.

<AJAHT!>

His little Skrit legs scrabbled. I have to grant him this: he recovered well. <Warrior Gafinilan! You remembered my name.> He spoke the words shakily but with a certain ingenuousness that I believe was meant to pass for charm.

<Yes, yes,> I muttered. <Proceed.>

I could hear Mertil momentarily pause his mantra to smile in my mind.

We proceeded to the transport ship, aware at every moment of the nagging feeling of extreme subservience. It seemed an ill omen for the mission. 


	7. Chapter Seven

We descended to the planet’s surface. Through dim, fractured Skrit eyes I could see the planet’s roiling clouds exaggerated still further into shades of red. The wind blew it in wild, swooping, swirling patterns. The Na piloting the craft did, in my opinion, an absolutely terrible job of landing the craft, so that my comrades and I were sent sliding across the floor of the cargo hold we occupied, unable to gain purchase on the floor with our inferior Skrit legs. Mertil nearly panicked as his cocoon shifted and spun, but recovered before anyone but myself could hear his frightened thoughtspeak.

We waited as the Na bartered with the Yeerks for some items the Yeerks had for trade. 

<Methane, primarily,> Aloth told us. <It’s a rare element on their homeworld, the original reason they became nomadic. They seek to harvest it anywhere they can. I believe their spacecraft may run on it, though I am unsure; their engineering is a closely guarded secret.>

<What do they need to guard it so closely for?> Satril said. <They are _ terrible  _ engineers.>

<Yes. But unique.> Aloth made a gesture with his Skrit feelers that resembled a stalk eye shrug. <Many consider uniqueness itself to be of value.>

We had no time to ponder this piece of philosophical rumination. The Na were calling for us. The clicking sounds they made, I realized, activating something in the inner chambers of my Skrit head. It vibrated, causing a neurological effect likely targeted toward the pleasure centers of the brain. I noticed the sensation also allowed me to pinpoint the location of the Na who called me, not dissimilar to the echolocation we’ve seen in certain other animals, but in reverse.

I took it upon myself to push Mertil’s crate out of the hold, and our little troop of Skrit descended into the atmosphere of the Ssstram planet. I knew best what to expect, as I had spent more time than the others in simulations. It was, indeed, very hot. In addition, due to the high neon and helium content of the air, not only did it have a reddish glowing tinge; all sound came through at a higher frequency than it would have on Andalite. The Galard we heard the Hork-Bajir, Gedd, and Taxxon Controllers speaking sounded as if it emanated from the bodies of much smaller creatures.

We waded through mud, pushing Mertil’s crate on a hovercart. I heard the Na casually tell the Hork-Bajir who appeared to be in control, “We have some Skrit in mid-molting. We’d planned to establish a temporary camp, if it’s not too close to your mine.”

The Hork-Bajir sighed and replied in squeaky Galard mixed with his own language. “They never tell us these things in advance! Did the Visser give you clearance to establish camp?”

“The Visser and I have an understanding.”

The Hork-Bajir eyed the Na; the Na blinked back inoffensively with its huge eyes. At last, the Hork-Bajir Controller motioned us past with one bladed arm. We trundled by, still with our crate, proceeding to the swampy area we had decided would be a safe place to demorph.

<What is happening?> Mertil asked from inside his cocoon, trying not to sound anxious. 

<All is according to plan,> I assured him.

<Visser Five is in charge on this planet, right?> the  _ aristh _ said. He was likely thinking of what the Skrit-Na had indicated about an alliance.

<That’s right,> Mertil said. <Visser Five. A politician rather than a great warrior, who rumor would have us believe has risen to her rank because so many others have been killed to smoothe the way.> His recitation of these facts seemed to calm him. We were nearing the stand of trees in which we could demorph and release him from the box.

<A politician,> Aloth said, sounding amused. <Dangerous indeed.>

<All right,> I cut in before Aloth could find some way to turn the conversation to subtly self-praising philosophy. <We have arrived. I suggest the  _ aristh _ demorph first, then activate the hologram generator.> As a precaution to prevent the seizure of Andalite technology by other races, most of our technology is key-coded to Andalite genetics. It’s a reasonable precaution that has proved somewhat cumbersome in practice.

<I will do it!> I had not anticipated that the  _ aristh  _ would react with such eagerness.

Mertil said, <Perhaps that is not the best choice,> in private thoughtspeak. But it was too late. The litte _ aristh  _ had already begun to demorph… with, I noted grudgingly, the skill of an  _ estreen _ . I also noted that Metil was annoyed with me. For taking charge at the expense of his command?

Ajaht finished demorphing and collected the hologram generator from just inside the crate. I demorphed next, followed by Aloth and Satril. Inside of a cloaking hologram that depicted a facsimile of our surroundings, we cut Mertil free. He helped us with his own tail as soon as he was able, then fell to the ground, his legs numb from their entrapment. I did not care that the others would find it offensive; I knelt beside him and kneaded his muscles to help restore circulation. Mertil, meanwhile, spoke to them as though this were not occurring. He is always able to regain his composure, even at moments when he has just been behaving in a silly or casual way, even when he has just come tumbling out of a sticky Skrit cocoon with his fur in wild disarray. The others listened while keeping their stalk eyes carefully turned away.

<As this is a stealth mission, your first priority is to obtain Ssstram morphs,> Mertil told us. <It’s probable that Pareon, if he has survived, has done this as well. In the interest of an orderly search, I will track each of you remotely and guide you in your efforts.> We had brought small tracking devices to be affixed after morphing; any implant inside of the Andalite body might be uselessly extruded or damaged during the morphing process. 

Mertil turned his stalk eyes to me. I was, after all, the one best-versed in exobiology.

<I have a recording of a Ssstram youngster in distress,> I told them. <It will draw an adult; they are highly protective of their broods.>

We began fiddling with the recording. When it played, however, it came out as a high-pitched scream that I quickly had to shut off. I noted that Satril and the  _ aristh _ had both clapped hands over their ears in distress, though Aloth and Mertil at least affected to be unmoved. 

<Of course,> I said. We had rerecorded the sound in Andalite atmosphere. Thus, on the Ssstram world with its different atmosphere, it was far too high-pitched. <What is it old Sofor used to say?> I asked Mertil, as he went to work reconfiguring the apparatus. 

Mertil quoted our old teacher with put-on gruffness: <If you think you can complete a task with two eyes shut, you should probably open them.>

He trained three of his own on the device, the fourth keeping watch on the perimeter of our hologram. At last he finished, and we set off the warning call. I very soon found myself questioning how any Ssstram were ever raised to adulthood, given the grating quality of their voices as infants.

<Forget shutting my eyes,> I complained. <I would like to close my ears.>

We waited for a Ssstram response. We hoped we would not attract the Yeerks first.

Something I learned early about the life of a warrior is this: it is a vast sky of boredom, crisscrossed only passingly by the lightning of panic, dotted now and then with the scudding clouds of amusement. 

<That is a poetic image,> Mertil told me.

<Oh, be quiet,> I said.

He was about to respond, but--

For some reason we had expected the Ssstram to arrive by air. We did not expect one of the creatures to surge upwards from  _ beneath  _ us. I realized only belatedly that the stand of trees we inhabited lay on an island in this swamp, and one of the Ssstram even now ripped its way through the moss just beneath where Aloth and the  _ aristh  _ stood. They were bowled over, and I admit I spent a moment--just a moment--in amusement at the sight of Aloth tumbling hooves over tailblade. The Ssstram that had erupted unfurled its wings. It hissed and screeched, flapping for altitude, then dove at Mertil! But he did not hesitate. He whipped his tail and _ torfed _ the creature. Though he could easily have severed its head from its long neck, he merely stunned it with the flat of the blade. It continued to flap for a moment like a ship on autopilot and then crumpled to the ground, unconscious, its three eyes covering themselves with a nacreous membrane. 

But we had no time to acquire our captive, because two more Ssstram burst forth! Mertil, meanwhile, had quieted the recording, which had clearly played its role. I was about to take my tailblade to these two Ssstram, but Aloth quickly righted himself. He fired with a Shredder in either hand, stunning them both at once.

<Well done,> Mertil told him.

Aloth made an indifferent gesture with his stalk eyes and holstered his Shredders.

Was it my imagination, or did the  _ aristh _ seek stalk eye contact with _ me  _ in order to make a gesture of annoyance at the sniper’s pretension? Either way, I ignored him.

<Force fields,> Mertil ordered; Satril jumped to aid him in setting them up. Mertil made quick adjustments in order to extend the field beneath us, as well as above. We would need some privacy in order to deal with our three captured Ssstram. Meanwhile, the _ aristh _ and I immobilized the captured aliens. At Aloth’s suggestion, we also tied cable around the mouths of two of them so they could not call out to others. It is laughably easy to incapacitate creatures who communicate only with mouth-sounds.

We left the third Ssstram, one of those who had merely been Stunned, with its mouth unbound. I administered a shot to the creature calibrated to awaken it. It stirred and attempted to thrash within its bonds, then quieted when Mertil knelt to look it in all three of its eyes.

“Thrrrassssgossss!” The hissing sound did not translate at first; then, provided with some context, my universal translator picked up the gist. “Monsters! Monsters! You have eaten the child!”

<We are not monsters,> Mertil assured it. Aloth, in the background, moved his stalk eyes in a gesture of irony. I had to admit, the Ssstram looked far more monstrous--at least from an Andalite perspective--than we did, with its red- and green-streaked leathery skin like the bark of a sick tree, and fangs that exposed themselves with each word. 

<Nor do we eat your children. We are Andalites. We have come because your planet is under attack by the Yeerks.>

“Yeeerrrrrrks?” The Ssstram cocked its head. “Yeeeerrrrksssss. Annnnnliiiiiiisssss.” That was clearly as close as it could come to pronouncing the name of our species. “Let me free! You speak nonsense. How do you speak inside of Fisstri’s head? Let me free!”

<Fisstri, is it? I am Mertil. Please listen to me. Then I will let you free.>

Now I heard the _ aristh _ make a sound of disdain. Perhaps he did not expect Mertil to be so courteous to an alien. Little did he know, Mertil is courteous with every new person he meets, which is why he is so well-liked. He saves rudeness for those who have earned it.

“And my mates,” Fisstri demanded, eyeing its two companions. 

<Yes. And your mates. Fisstri, you must understand your planet is in terrible danger…> Mertil opened his mind to the creature, hoping that it would understand. It was difficult; the primitive Ssstram did not understand the concept of space travel. With the thick cloud cover of their planet, they had never even seen the stars. But they were intelligent; clearly capable of empathy and connection to other members of their species. Mertil poured into the creature’s mind images of the Yeerks and an explanation of the threat they posed to the Ssstram. Fisstri had seen objects plummeting from the sky lately, trails of fire drawn through the atmosphere. The Ssstram had believed, we came to understand, that this was a sign of some religious import. It seemed that many among the Ssstram were encouraging this belief and that some had formed a new sect…

“They are called the World-Nest,” Fisstri told us, “They are saying that we must make a flight from the swamps to the land. It is new and strange.”

Mertil, Satril, and I all eyed each other. Classic Yeerk tactics.

“But Ssssrayis is mother of many! Not a Yeerk,” the Ssstram insisted, frightened and confused. “Ssssrayis is Ssstram!”

<She will appear as such to you,> Mertil said. <And inside of her own mind, she remains Ssstram. The Yeerk controls her body, forcing her to behave as it wills.>

The Ssstram remained very quiet. I could see it thinking over this information. I could see it was very disturbed despite its alien features; its neck quivered and its tongue darted fitfully in and out of its spike-toothed mouth. 

“You are here to help the Ssstram to ostracize these Yeerks?” The word was similar to some that we have and I recalled that the Ssstram did not practice intraspecies warfare but that they did sometimes drive out a member of the nest who was misbehaving. Usually it was tantamount to a death sentence anyway, in their harsh environment.

This was the hard part. 

<We will,> Mertil told Fisstri. <That is why we have arrived. But there are not enough of us to defeat the Yeerks yet. We had hoped to conquer them without landing on your world, but...> He abandoned this explanation as too complex. <We are waiting for more of our fellows to help us.>

“It sometimes takes a troop of many to harry invaders,” Fisstri said solemnly.

<In the meantime, we have lost one of our own companions here. We have come to rescue him, just as you came to rescue the infant you believed to be in danger.>

“You are not monsters. You come from the far side of the sky, but you are not gods,” Fisstri said at last.

<No. We are not.>

“You are each other’s Nest-Mates. You seek your progeny or a fellow mate?”

<We seek one who is relatively young,> Mertil explained. <New to our group.>

“It is very important to care for the young. It is sacred duty,” Fisstri informed us. “I will help. Please, let me make my allegiance to your primary female.”

I realized the Ssstram was looking at me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [Cavatica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica) for the inspiration and enthusiastic beta. I've also stolen her characterization of Elfangor's mom.


End file.
